6. Daisy
CHAPTER SIX
DAISY
We’re pressed so close together there’s barely enough room to breathe.
I can feel the heat rolling off Harrison’s chest. His breaths break against my lips, all uneven, like he’s fighting not to lose it.
That kiss still smolders on my mouth, everywhere he touched me tingling like I stuck my finger in a socket.
My hands don’t know what the hell to do with themselves. I want to touch him again, want him to touch me again, but I’m stuck there, fists curling and uncurling at my sides, practically vibrating with all the things I will never say out loud.
Then I just do it. No thinking. No waiting for permission.
I grab him by the front of his shirt and yank him down to my mouth, hard enough I hear the collar strain.
This time, there is nothing sweet about it.
His lips crash into mine, force meeting force. Everything else in the room blurs out. My free hand finds his chest and presses flat, right over his heart. The muscle jumps under my palm. He goes still for exactly one heartbeat.
Then his hands clamp onto my waist, anchoring me in place. He kisses me back, fierce and hungry, his mouth opening against mine like surrender. For once, he doesn’t try to take the lead. He just matches me, beat for beat, meeting every move with equal heat.
There’s a groan, and I’m not sure if it’s him or me, but my entire body lights up in response.
Clothes and skin and heat, everywhere. We spin again. His shoulders bracket me against the brick. My toes barely touch the creaky floorboards.
We break apart, gasping. I don’t let go. My fist stays knotted in his shirt, knuckles white. Our faces are inches apart, breath mixing. He stares at me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
No jokes. No snappy comebacks. Just the thud of my heart slamming against my ribs and the absolute certainty that if I let go, I’ll regret it.
So, I don’t.
I let the silence hang for one long, wild second.
Then I turn, still holding his hand like a lifeline, and tow him toward my bedroom door.
The world shrinks to the two of us. I can feel the prickle of his gaze at my back, can hear him breathing just behind my left shoulder.
His body crowds the doorway, but he doesn’t wait for an invitation.
He just follows, pulse and heat, the bigness of him making the whole room feel even smaller.
He’s so close I can feel the air move between us.
I take a step back and hit the edge of my bed with my knees.
I turn to face him. My heart’s in my throat, but I keep my eyes on his, lit up and hungry, like I’m the only thing he wants to look at. For a second, we just stare at each other, the silence heavy enough to knock me over.
Our mouths crash together. This is pure, electric need. My hands slide up, knotting in his hair, and I don’t care about anything except the way he tastes and the way his hands are already on my hips, pinning me right where he wants me.
He groans deep in his chest, and the sound lights up every nerve ending I’ve got. His body is all around me, solid, hot, unyielding. He’s not leading, not performing, just giving it back to me, every ounce of it.
I freaking love it. I want more. It’s a little scary how addicting Harrison Stafford is.
I fight to unbutton his shirt. He reaches between us and helps out. Once we get the last button undone, I push the shirt off his shoulders, fingers grazing his skin as I go. My hands tingle at the heat of him. Harrison’s torso is all thick muscle, and I slowly slide my fingers over every inch.
His palm finds my shoulder blade, fingers spreading wide, but he barely presses. He just wants the connection, nothing else. I can feel him track my every breath, every flicker of movement. It’s almost sweet. Almost. “Are you sure?” He groans as I drag my fingernails down his chest.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He groans my name. Then his mouth crashes into mine, all teeth and tongue, no more pretending. He kisses like he wants to ruin me, and I’m here for it. I fist my hands in his hair, dragging him closer, greedy for everything he has to give.
He moves with purpose, hands sliding under my shirt, palms hot, and then he’s yanking it up and over my head.
I gasp, break the kiss for one wild second.
My hair falls loose, gets caught in the collar, but he makes quick work of it, letting it tumble down around my shoulders.
There’s a flare in his eyes that burns me from the inside out.
He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at the way my frilly bra barely covers anything. His hands roam, thumbs tracing the top of the lace, then he drops his head and kisses my neck, my collarbone, nipping at the skin until I squirm.
His fingers work my pants open, rough and desperate, and then he’s dragging them down my legs, slow and showy, like he wants to make me squirm for it. Every inch of me is burning up as he strips me bare.
He presses me back on the bed, and I let him, loving the way his body brackets mine, all heat and hardness and need. He just stands there, eyes wild, and then hooks his thumbs in his waistband, shoving his jeans down.
Harrison’s jeans hit the floor with a thunk, and I about black out from the sight of him. Holy cow. If he was impressive before, seeing him stripped down to nothing but stretched gray boxer briefs and raw, unfiltered need is a nuclear-grade shock to my system.
For one wild second, we just stare at each other. His eyes are locked on me, his desire so hot it feels like they could burn right through my skin and straight into my soul.
I expect him to pounce, to devour, but he hangs back. Breath ragged. Waiting. Giving me the wheel.
Fine. I’ll drive.
I arch my back, just a little, enough to make the mattress creak and my breasts threaten to spill out of the ridiculous lace bra. His mouth drops open; the sound he makes is half-moan, half-curse, and all hunger.
He comes closer, moving slowly, like a predator savoring the kill. One knee hits the bed, then the other, the weight of him shoving the air right out of the room.
He looms over me, shoulders so wide he blocks out the light. For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I reach up and hook my fingers around his muscular waist, yanking him down, greedy. I want his heat, his weight, the heavy grind of him against me. I run my finger down the outline of his cock, barely touching him through the thin material.
“Fuck.” His groan echoes around the small bedroom. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”
My mouth curves. “That’s the point.”
He mutters a filthy curse. I drag my hand up and down his thick cock through the fabric of his boxers, grinding my palm just hard enough to make his hips jerk. His eyes squeeze shut. “You’re gonna kill me.” There’s no humor in it, just raw, cracked need.
“Good.” I reach down and tug on the waistband. The fabric slides down slow, brushing my thighs, and holy hell, he’s massive. Like, break-the-laws-of-physics big. My mouth goes Sahara-level dry just looking at him.
He braces one palm against the headboard like he needs the support. My fist wraps around him, hot and hard and so freaking perfect. I stroke him again, savoring the way his entire body goes tight. For a second, I just look, greedy and unashamed, because holy cow, I did this to him.
He’s flushed dark, tip leaking, the whole thing straining like he’s seconds from losing his mind.
Then I let go, slowly releasing him, and drag my nails up over his abs.
His whole damn body jolts. He’s shaking.
I lean back, arching until the straps of my frilly bra threaten to give up the ghost. “You gonna just stand there, Stafford, or are you gonna put me out of my misery?”
He lets out a laugh that’s half-groan, half-plea. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
“Shut up and get to work,” I order, dead serious.